Chasing Trouble
by Astiza
Summary: Merlin doesn't like ships. He likes them even less when they're bringing him to foreign kingdoms on king's business. War is stirring in the Saxon lands and Camelot needs all the allies it can get. Morgana finds herself married off in exchange for an army, and Arthur and Merlin are left to negotiate an alliance with the Franks - if they can make it there and back in time.
1. Merlin

**Title**: Chasing Trouble  
**Author**: Astiza  
**Genre**: Adventure/Friendship/Intrigue  
**Rating**: T  
**Warnings/Spoilers**: takes place during series 2ish, but pretty AU and slightly historically-based  
**Summary**: Merlin doesn't like ships. He likes them even less when they're bringing him to foreign kingdoms on king's business. War is stirring in the Saxon lands and Camelot needs all the allies it can get. Morgana finds herself married off in exchange for an army, and Arthur and Merlin are left to negotiate an alliance with the Franks - if they can make it there and back in time.

**Author's** **Notes**: Ah, well I'm back with another fic, guys. I was inspired by the Merlin marathon on BBC America. Summer is upon us, so hopefully that means more frequent updates. I'll be x-posting this to some lj comms and mine own lj at chaine_maille, if you prefer to read it there. / This will be a POV fic.

* * *

MERLIN

His stomach rolled right along with the ship, rising and falling with the crest of each wave. Stretching away toward the horizon, white caps dotted the sea like a sparse snowfall. Merlin wondered how something so violent and beautiful could make him want to vomit over the rail, _repeatedly_.

He'd never been on a ship before. Camelot wasn't very far from the sea, but it was far enough that having a royal fleet was impractical. He clutched the rail with shaking fingers, felt the smooth, worn wood beneath his hands, and wondered how many others had emptied their meager breakfasts into the sea from where he stood. It was not such a pleasant thought. Merlin wiped his mouth on his sleeve, the blue of the tunic already starting to fade from the briny, salt air and stains of his own sick. Disgusting, he thought, but there wasn't really anything he could do.

He squinted at the sails, unfurled halfway to make the most of the wind at their backs while keeping control on the pitching sea. Crewmen scaled the ropes like squirrels, hurrying to bring in the canvas on the second mast. The sky was thick with gray clouds. Occasionally Merlin could see a bit of blue squeezing through, but then it was gone, covered up by the dreary, wind-swept clouds.

On legs as unsteady as a newborn calf, Merlin stumbled his way across the ship to the steps that led below decks. The waves echoed loudly in his ears, slapping against the hull of the ship as if they were trying to dash it to pieces. He heard their captain bellow something, but then he descended a ladder and the sounds from above were drowned out by the creak and groan of the wood and the water.

Merlin made his way towards his hammock. After the first night on board the ship, he'd discovered that the little cot in the passenger cabin he'd been given to share with his prince was hard as stale bread and twice as likely to fling him to the ground in a single night. The hammock didn't resist the natural motion of the ship and Merlin found he didn't mind the swaying so much when he was trying to sleep. The cabin he was supposed to share with Arthur was just across the deck and around a few support posts, a goodly way from the rest of the crew as befitted a prince. But Merlin decided he didn't really care if he slept in the royally appointed cabin or not. Arthur snored at sea, right through the thin cabin walls. Merlin realized it would keep him awake at night unless he used a little magic to silence it (and a bit on the crew as well). He figured it wasn't hurting anyone.

Merlin closed his eyes, held his stomach until it settled, and let the hammock lull him into sleep. He dreamed of land: fields of grain and green forests, the sunlight stroking the leaves with golden fingers.

He woke some time during the night to the damp wood of the ship pressed to his face.

"Oh," he groaned, turning onto his back. His hammock swam into view, a little twisted with half his leg still tangled up in it. A stampede of feet, bare and booted alike, made the deck vibrate, and then it was quiet. The little cabin door opened.

"What's going on?" Arthur peered around the door at the empty lower level and immediately spied Merlin tangled up in his hammock, half on the floor, half up in the air.

"All hands on deck?" Merlin offered. He yanked his foot away from the canvas and the hammock spun itself back into shape. Merlin got to his feet with much arm-swinging and near-tripping and crossed the deck to stand beside Arthur.

"There's a storm or something," Arthur said, making for the ladder. "You saw how rough it was in the afternoon, it's probably on us now." He glanced at Merlin to see if he'd follow. Merlin reluctantly padded after him.

"How much longer 'til we get there?"

"We'll ask the captain." Arthur climbed to the next level and waited for Merlin to emerge. "I shouldn't think it would be much longer. A few more days? The sea isn't too wide."

"Good," Merlin gasped, clutching tight to Arthur's shirt as his stomach frolicked about. "I don't think green suits me."

Arthur laughed and it was a clean, pure sound like the icicles that hung from the eaves in the lower town where the smallfolk of Camelot dwelt. Merlin hazarded a smile that threatened to squirm off his face with the next crash of the waves.

"I'll be glad to get off this ship too," Arthur admitted. He put a hand on Merlin's back to guide him to the stairs that led to the upper deck. "Let's see how the captain's doing."

"Why couldn't the king have sent some envoys to the continent? Why _you_? Half the way's through hostile territory!"

"Because I'm his son and the only one he trusts not to completely mess up this alliance."

"Exactly," Merlin said when they reached the deck. He gulped, looking at the waves that must have been twice his height. "You're his _only_ son. And this is dangerous."

Arthur shrugged. "It's no more dangerous than leading my father's vanguard."

The crew was aloft, bringing in the canvas sails as the ship rode over the crest of a wave. Merlin leapt out of the way as a barrel broke loose and went rolling down the deck. A cabin boy scrambled after it.

And then they were plunging down as the wave passed beneath them. It was a queer, smooth motion, but a motion nonetheless. Merlin clamped his mouth shut and doggedly followed Arthur through the rain and sea spray toward the helm.

Arthur cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would carry. "When do we make land?"

The captain dashed the water from his eyes. "What!"

"When do we make land!"

"We'll ride out this little squall!" He gripped the wheel again, giving it a fierce turn. "Should reach the coast in another two days!"

"Another two days," Arthur repeated to a soaked Merlin. "You'll last. Doesn't the rain feel nice after all that time below deck?"

Merlin pouted. "No, it doesn't feel _nice_. But, you're the crown prince, so I suppose you're impervious to all this," he said, sweeping his hand around the ship. "Never mind Merlin who's all cold and wet and sea sick and doesn't have a cloak."

Arthur chuckled and laid a warm hand on his friend's soaked shoulder. "I'm sorry, Merlin, I forgot you're a girl. Care to go below, my lady?"

"If I were a girl, I wouldn't be on this ship. Girls are bad luck on boats."

Arthur snorted, but started walking back to the steps. "Is that some stupid peasant superstition?"

"Yes, it is!" Then, realizing what he'd just said: "You—hey!"

Arthur bundled Merlin safely into the little cabin and made him change into some dry clothing.

"Remind me to get you a water resistant cloak when we're home," he muttered, helping Merlin peel off his wet, clinging trousers and tunic. "Some felted cloth – blue I think. Blue suits you."

"Land suits me better," Merlin complained. "There's an entire _pond_ in my boot!" He up-ended it; salt water sloughed onto the floor.

"Yeah, well there's an entire _sea_ on the other side of this wall." He rapped his knuckles on the cabin wall for emphasis. "Get used to it."

"Two days, right. I can make it through two more days." Merlin straightened up and slid the clean shirt over himself. "This isn't one of mine."

"No"—Arthur got to his feet—"so you'd better not vomit all over it."

They sat in the little cabin for a moment longer. Merlin tapped his fingers idly against the wooden bed post and wished he could have suggested flying over the channel with a dragon. Except the dragon he had in mind was chained below Camelot.

"It's a little stuffy in here," Merlin said.

Arthur was sprawled on the bed, face down in the thin pillow.

"Um, do you have a bucket on hand?"

"Are you going to be sick?" Arthur asked into the pillow. The ship rocked.

"I have to pee."

Arthur sighed. "Under the bed. Go on then." Merlin knelt on the floor, nearly fell over with the next wave, and retrieved the pail from beneath the cot. There was sick in it.

"You're one to talk," he muttered. "And you say _I'm_ a girl."

"Shut up, Merlin."

* * *

So that's the first chapter... We'll see how this fic progresses. **Please review; tell me what you think!**


	2. Morgana

MORGANA

It was quiet in the forest and the air crackled with heat. Morgana wished she could stay. She sat cross-legged on a rock, enjoying the freedom of trousers and a green cotton shirt. Her borrowed-without-permission sword lay across her lap, its fuller soaking up the thin sunlight. The grip was leather: simple and unadorned. The sword had a nice weight and she felt powerful with it in her hands.

It was silly to pretend to be a knight. She was a woman and the first lady of Camelot; and she belonged in the realm of dresses, curtsies and smiles, needlework and dancing. It wasn't fair. Why should she marry someone she'd never met? Someone who would relegate her to pretty-wall-fixture, who would lay fabrics at her feet and expect her love and loyalty? Morgana wanted, more than anything, to be an equal. She used to beat Arthur when they were younger – before he had proper knights training. All she needed was some more practice. She'd grown soft walking the castle halls and sitting beside Uther. But somehow she doubted her future husband would like her to duel with him. Especially if she beat him – she knew she _could_.

Arthur and Merlin had left for the coast a week ago to take a ship across the channel to the Frank-held lands. There was the looming threat of a Saxon invasion; King Hengist was amassing an army. Camelot's scouts had seen convoy wagons filled with provisions and men crossing into Saxon territory. Uther said they were just a bunch of rabble, armed with iron axes and pitch forks, yet he was still on guard and felt the need to secure new allies.

She'd asked to go along with Arthur; traveling abroad was an adventure and she was sure Merlin wouldn't mind her company (though Arthur might). Uther had refused and that was when she found out she was to be sold like a horse to a lord in exchange for military support.

"What about when the war ends?" she asked. "You won't need the military aid then. What will happen to me?"

"You will be married, Morgana. I expect you'll be Lord Gareth's wife. This marriage is important if we are to defend our borders and our people," he explained. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made. The Lord of Casterford has a strong army and very deep pockets. He has pledged three thousand sword and seven hundred cavalry to our cause."

"But he's _ancient_."

"Then you'll find yourself a widow in no time and free to marry again. It's long past time you were wed, Morgana. Most highborn girls are wed as soon as they've … become women. I've let you run wild for too long – it's time you did your duty to the kingdom."

"Don't I inherit Cornwall? I'm my father's only living child. Can't I take up my rightful place and aid you as a vassal instead of marrying a lord?"

"That would be… preferable. But Cornwall has been promised to your late father's nephew when he comes of age."

"But _I'm_ his heir."

"Gorlois's brother held Cornwall as regent; upon your father's death you were too young to inherit, and a girl besides, so the title passed to his brother and his brother's line. I'm sorry Morgana, but this discussion is over. You will marry Casterford as soon as the wedding can be arranged. Within the month, I hope."

Morgana decided against further arguing. "Will Arthur and Merlin be back in time?"

"I don't know. That depends how the negotiations with the Franks go. We need their money and their men. Camelot's army will not be able to repel the Saxon forces alone, and I've received news that a Pict rebellion is stirring in the north. We have precious little time to prepare."

:i:

Morgana slid the sword through her belt like Arthur and untied her horse from the tree. She could run away, she supposed, but she had a duty to Camelot and it would be selfish of her to put the kingdom and the smallfolk at risk just because she didn't want to marry someone. _Perhaps he will be kind_, she hoped. She knew could manage her own household. _It might even be fun_.

Would Gwen be coming too? Morgana wondered. Gwen was her handmaiden, but by no means did Morgana want to make her friend leave her home in the lower town just so _she_ wouldn't be lonely in another castle. Gwen had friends in Camelot; no, it would be unfair of her to take Gwen away from all she knew.

The trees seemed to close in around her as the air grew more humid. Morgana's hair clung to her face whenever the thin breeze floated past; storm clouds were gathering above the treetops. Morgana swung into the saddle and headed back to the castle, wishing she'd brought a leather thong to tie her long hair back.

The gray palfrey tossed its head, thick mane flying, when the first streak of lightning arced through the slate sky. The thunder heads rolled in quickly, covering what was left of the sun. Morgana gripped the reins tighter as they cantered along the edge of the ravine. A spray of pebbles went tumbling down the gully from her horse's hooves. It began to rain.

Morgana dashed the rain from her eyes and took a handful of mane, gripping the horse tightly with her calves. The path was growing slippery; runoff from the rocky soil above was washing over the path and into the ravine in hundreds of rivulets and waterfalls. Twice her horse slipped, but then the trail turned away from the edge of the drop and onto the muddy forest tract. Morgana dug in her heels and galloped for the home. Mud splattered her boots and twigs snared her hair and scratched her face when she was careless, but soon the forest gave way to the meadow and Camelot loomed in the distance, shrouded in mist and dark clouds.

:i:

The sharp sounds of her horse's hooves on the cobblestones alerted the stable boys to her return. Her horse, belly splattered with mud, was led into the shelter of the warm stable, leaving Morgana free to hurry back to her chambers before Uther discovered his wayward, drenched ward.

"Milady!" Gwen exclaimed, dumping a pile of linens on the bed. "We were so worried when the storm came up. Sir Leon was going to go out after you, but then we heard your horse in the courtyard. Are you alright? Is that blood?"

"I'm fine Gwen"—Morgana waved away her concern—"but a hot bath would be nice."

"Of course, you must be cold!" Gwen slipped out of the room in search of a tub. Morgana combed her fingers through her tangled hair and began undoing her belt. She laid her borrowed sword on the table, wiping it dry with the edge of her shirt.

There was a knock at the door, quickly followed by Sir Leon. "Gwen? Is Morgana alright? Oh, my lady, I didn't see you!" He coughed self-consciously and turned his back while Morgana wrapped a thick towel over her shoulders and sodden, clinging clothing. "Forgive me. I was just checking to see if you were well. Do you require anything, my lady?"

Touched by his concern, Morgana only smiled and shook her head. Then, remembering Leon was still staring at the wall and couldn't see her, said, "I'm fine. Gwen's just gone to fetch me some hot water." She tugged at her hair, wondering if Leon would have to escort her to Uther for judgment.

"Does Uther know I've returned?"

"I don't think he knew you'd left. He's been shut up in the hall all afternoon with the small council. Negotiations or something – for the war."

"I see," she slipped behind the changing screen. "Please, have a seat. I'm being married off in a few weeks time." She gestured to one of the hard-backed chairs. "Do you know anything about Lord Casterford?"

Leon hesitantly took a seat, angling his body away from the screen. "He's been married before," he began. "Couple of sons and natural born sons too."

"Has he?"

"I'm sorry, that was probably not the right thing to say." Leon chastised himself. "You're to be his wife, as you said." He paused, groping for something more suitable to mention. "Uh, well his castle is strong – garrisoned regularly by about two hundred. He's obviously got a good army if he can spare the infantry and cavalry he's promised to the King. Got a lot of land, him… 'S liege lord to Sir Dayne, Lord Elfred, and Lord somebody of the Green Cross."

Morgana chuckled. "I mean, besides his holdings and such. Have you met him? Is he kind? … cruel?"

Leon took a breath, taking a moment to sift through some old memories. "Before I was sent to squire at Camelot, my father took me along to Lord Gareth's largest holdfast. He seemed … formidable. But his wife at the time smiled a lot so I suppose she was happy."

"That's… good," Morgana said, softly.

Gwen arrived a few moments later, hauling a tub behind her. "I'll just fetch some more hot water. Be back in a tick."

"I'll give you a hand," Leon said, getting to his feet. "My lady." He inclined his head towards the screen.

"Thank you, both," Morgana called after them.

:i:

Morgana drew her knees up to her chest while Gwen scrubbed her back. "Did Arthur know?"

"Know what, milady?"

"My political marriage."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Gwen said. "The king only announced it this morning."

"Do you think he would have stopped it? If he were here, I mean."

Gwen shrugged sympathetically. "I really can't say. The king says it's for the good of the realm and that we all must make sacrifices. But sacrificing _your_ happiness… Oh, Morgana, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Gwen, maybe Lord Gareth won't be so bad." She traced a pattern in the soap bubbles on the tub. "He's old; perhaps he'll just ignore me and I'll be free to do as I please. I could manage his household. I know I'd be good at that. It's just... what if I don't like him?"

Gwen shrugged helplessly. "Love doesn't happen overnight."

"That's true. Is there any more hot water, Gwen?"

"I'll go fetch you some." Gwen smiled.

* * *

**Please review!**

Next Chapter: ARTHUR


End file.
